It is widely assumed Russia’s athletes will be allowed back in time for the Rio Olympics but the clock is ticking and the path getting murkier.
Illustration: David Lyttleton for the Guardian

When Russia’s athletics federation was suspended last November, the country’s sports minister, Vitaly Mutko, claimed it would take 60 days for it to “renew” and become compliant with the World Anti-Doping Agency’s code again. It was the equivalent of a used-car salesman respraying a written-off motor and swearing blind it was fit for the road. But a fresh documentary, broadcast on German TV on Sunday, suggests that under the bonnet the system is as decrepit as ever.

The programme – made by the intrepid journalist Hajo Seppelt, who is making a welcome habit of shining a spotlight into the grimiest corners of international sport – showed secret recordings of the suspended Russian coach Vladimir Mokhnev, who ARD claim was still working with elite athletes. It also presented documentary evidence that new head of the Russian Anti-Doping Agency, Anna Anzelovich, had previously informed athletes about dates for doping tests. Last November Mutko had promised fresh elections and “a 99% new leadership”. But this new guard still carries the pungent musk of the former regime.

All of which presents an intriguing problem for the IAAF, the governing body of international athletics, whose executive council meets in Monaco this week. Russia is on the agenda, although no decision about its suspension is likely to be taken. But while it is widely assumed its athletes will be allowed back in time for the Rio Olympics, the clock is ticking and the path getting murkier.

Russia should stay banned. No one can seriously argue otherwise. Re-reading Dick Pound’s independent commission report from last November provides a jolting reminder of its “deep-rooted culture of cheating”. Doping became so institutionally normal that it was as much a part of many athlete’s preparations as stepping on to the track or entering the weight room. Officials routinely gave advanced notice of proposed out-of-competition tests. Athletes adopted false identities to avoid unexpected testing. And, crucially, this poisoned philosophy seeped from the heart of the Kremlin.

The report also found that Mutko issued direct orders to “manipulate particular samples”, and that there was “direct intimidation and interference by the Russian state with the Moscow laboratory operations”. More staggeringly still, the government also set up a shadow laboratory which covered up positive doping results by destroying samples. Yes, most countries have a problem with doping. But Russia was unique both for its scale and its scope. Mutko denies everything.

Given little appears to have changed, it should be an open and shut case. But geo-politics will almost certainly trump principle. It is thought that the IAAF president, Lord Coe, accepts that Russia still has plenty to prove. The International Olympic Committee president, Thomas Bach, wants Russia’s athletes to go to Rio. And the president of Wada, Sir Craig Reedie, a longstanding member of the IOC, has shown he wants to be on good terms with Russians. A cosy compromise would surprise no one.

But if international sport was serious about tackling doping in Russia, it would be asking questions and conducting investigations that stretch far beyond athletics. According to the data company Infostrada’s virtual medal table, Russia is projected to win 68 of them in Rio, a tally that would put it third behind the USA and China. Yet it is peculiar that other Olympic sports are not under the same microscope as track and field.

Take weightlifting, a sport in which Russia is forecast to win eight medals this summer. At the world championships in December four Russians were among 17 lifters suspended after drug tests. They included three gold medallists: Aleksei Lovchev, Olga Zubova and Aleksei Kosov, who tested positive for anabolic steroids. How many other athletes, in how many other sports, might also be tainted? We can only guess.

But pry more deeply into Russia and some will rightly wonder why the authorities are not getting tougher with other serial offenders, too. The evidence is not hard to find. The Pound report quotes a senior representative of the IAAF Anti-Doping department, who said: “To be frank there is no surprise to anybody that the former Soviet Union countries have a doping culture deeply incurred [sic] in the sport. It works for Russia, it works for Ukraine, works for Belarus, for Kazakhstan, works for all the former Soviet Union countries.”

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And then there is Ethiopia, Turkey, Morocco and Kenya. Sure, the situation differs in each country. No one is suggesting, for instance, that Kenya’s government is involved in the systemic problems that plague Russia. But a lack of spending on anti-doping, poor education, and corruption in Athletics Kenya has allowed doping to thrive. In Ethiopia there are suggestions that the drugs problem is bigger than reported, with officials also warning athletes when anti-doping officials apply for entry visas. There was an independent commission for Russia. Why not Kenya, Ethiopia and other hotspots, too?

Trusting souls might point to the extreme cost and difficulties of such an approach. Perhaps they are right. But some countries and sports might justly fear the horrors that may be unearthed. And how the thin veneer between what we marvel at, and what we doubt, could be cracked even further.